


The Last Damn Time

by space_kid



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bad Parenting, Bad Things Happen To Cecil, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is Mostly Human, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hearing Voices, Immortal Cecil, M/M, Saying I Love You, Self-Hatred, or so it seems, spoilers for ghost stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_kid/pseuds/space_kid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil hates love and it seems love hates him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Damn Time

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written anything, esp wtnv, in a while but d a m n ep 88 rly got me bad so i decided to write a thing  
> while i was writing this it kinda got derailed from canon, so i guess its not rly canon like but whateVER  
> after writing this i have realized its not canon AT ALL so whoopsie doops

Cecil Gershwin Palmer is not a man familiar with new concepts or change. A man of habit who was stuck in a never ending chain some would have the privilege of calling life; Cecil much preferred to call it "work," and even with that, he used the word reluctantly and lightly. When you live long enough, life seems to be simply more of a chore rather then a gift. Receipts on life don't seem to exist, Cecil has found.

Living the life he had, and seeing the things he has takes a toll on any person, regardless of past. So many things have passed through Cecil's life like a fine desert breeze, particles occasionally leading askew and blowing in an unknown direction to him. Where those wayward souls Cecil met so long ago are now is a mystery, one that will catch Cecil off guard on the off chance that he finds a memory trapped in his day to day life. A sound or an article of clothing will bring him back to an older and simpler time as a young man. Some stay for only a second before reality takes over, while others keep him up and awake with thought and questions. _If only... ___

The point being, is that Cecil has said goodbye far too often, and has said hello less and less as the years pass. Sure, it could be attributed to the admittedly unforgiving town in which interlopers are put on a pedestal and shown the greatest form of hospitality. Or at least as much as a town who hasn't sold a house in what seemed to be decades. Night Vale seemed to be very exclusive; ones who belonged never left, and those who did not never entered.

In this realization that he made long ago, Cecil has held him back from meeting those who are new. Old friends, such as Josie, have been held close to him, and even that closeness is at arm's length away. The Voice of Night Vale is a lonely man.

Although he'd never admit it to anyone but the reflection he used to see in his mirrors, he does blame someone. He does blame someone from his past that has scorned him, burned him in an unforgivable way and place. The heat from their touch seared his skin, now he's afraid of contact. And she's still there, holding his unwilling hand.

"Go away," he whispers to the wall when he felt the approaching touch of something, cold and finger-like. It was a questioning touch, and Cecil despised it. He tore his hand away forcefully from the potential grip, not wanting the frigidness.

"No... that's not going to happen," he said, voice stern and commanding. He isn't the small 15 year old boy that she left, _left, _all those years ago. He isn't the scared little kid that recorded his voice in a shitty recorder, pretending to be the man on the radio. Cecil was no longer afraid of a shadow approaching him in his vision, or covered mirrors that held something back. He liked to think that he had grown, but it seems like only yesterday. Cecil ends that trail of thought in an instant, instead focusing on the feeling of the room around him.__

"Go away," he spat in repeat to no one's face, and with a seemingly small exhale from the room, Cecil felt more alone then he had in a long time.

* * *

"Mom?" He called as he entered the room with a backpack and a story from school to tell. Closing the door behind him, Cecil ventured into his house.

He placed his heavy bag on the sofa, which groaned with agony, and went toward the stairwell. It wasn't the first time his mother had not been home when he got home, so Cecil didn't pay much mind to her absence. He was comfortable enough with the house and himself to stay alone and safe. Besides, if he needed anything, there were people next door.

If there was one thing that Cecil was exceptional at, it was being alone. He had been left alone all the time, his brother going on trips and his mother leaving for unknown reasons on the regular. Cecil chose not to think about either, and instead get absorbed with the radio shows that he fell in love with. Listening to the news calmed him greatly, knowing what was going on. Being left in the dark wasn't very fun, Cecil hated it. What mom was doing and what was going on with his brother were off limits, and the young boy knew where the lines were drawn. Don't question family, and don't follow family. Especially dad-

Cecil stopped in his tracks, dead, and stood in eerie silence and motion. _Dad. _The man had not been on Cecil's mind in a very long time, and for good reason: he had no memories of the person. He was simply a name, a shadow of a human. Cecil had learned long ago not to speak of him, and had not asked the questions he wanted answers to ever. He shook the portrait of the man out of his head, and continued the walk upstairs.__

With one more peek into his mother's room, empty, Cecil walked to his room to listen to the radio while thinking of that great story Earl Harlen told him at school.

After one week alone, Cecil grew concerned.

* * *

_"Someday someone will kill you, and it will involve a mirror." ___

* * *

She blamed him, that was for certain.

And truth be told, Cecil couldn't blame her for it, it didn't seem to be misplaced. Abbey had every right to want to blame someone, and with no one else in her life to do so, Cecil understood that he would be the one to receive the brunt of the yelling and blame and heaviness on his shoulders.

That being said, it didn't mean that he appreciated it. He could've done without being screamed at when he was a teenager by the only family member her truly had disappeared; he could've gone without the nights where she didn't return and he began to sob in agony that the only thing he had left was gone; he didn't need the facts thrown in his face that _he _was the reason that she wasn't in college and that he was holding her back from living the life she wanted. Choice words were thrown between both parties, and Cecil will admit that he made many mistakes in regards of his sister. He isn't proud of how he treated her, and he suspects that she feels bad for treating him the way that she did as well.__

At least that helps him feel better at night.

Life growing up had been a challenge, that only grew with age. Adjusting to life with one parent to no parent was a forceful and painful shift, but one both siblings had to take regardless. Cecil started viewing things as the temporary things they are; things are meant to be killed, lost, or forgotten. Nothing lasts in the end, no matter how much you bleed for it or wish it to return. Bonds are only as strong as the values that built them, and if Cecil valued nothing at all, are his bonds paper thin? He likes to think that he has built a wall up between himself and the world, instead focusing on his job and Night Vale as a whole instead of himself and his past. His 15 year old self would be proud of the job, but he would also ask why the future seemed so grey and dead. Why his older version never smiled for too long anymore, or didn't really have friends. Why Abbey stopped trying to keep in touch. Where Mom is.

He himself waits centuries for the last answer.

* * *

Cecil loses track of how long he has been alive. Time loses it's meaning.

* * *

_Him. ___

Cecil has never seen someone so full of life, so full of hope, so unabashedly and unforgivingly human; it was a concept Cecil was unfamiliar with, being human. Over the last decades, Cecil begins to feel like he has more in common with furniture then other people. Watching people he had grown to love die off and grow up and away broke his heart every damn time, without fail. No one was an exception in that case. Being the voice of a small desert community meant that he knew everyone's name and they all knew him; Cecil has watched his entire town die and be born again multiple times.

He stands like a statue, unmoving and simply going through the motions of life, such was eating and sleeping, which is always supplied by monsters in his mirror and ghosts haunting him. More then once, Cecil has felt the cold aura of someone he has known in a past life surround him in a chilled embrace, and he has been left gasping with tears streaming down his face. Being haunted sucked, Cecil decided long ago.

But when those interlopers, who Cecil had previously no interest in, waltzed up to his prison called Night Vale and simply set up shop, he knew that a story was afoot. In the beginning, he was simply a journalist seeking something to fill his time slot given by Station Management. Walking up the group of people in lab coats was nothing new, nor did it scare Cecil in the slightest. He was familiar with trying bizarre things to get a story or interview, and he was somewhat infamous for it. Not that these new people knew that...

"Excuse me!" He calls to them, clutching a notepad with a camera strung around his neck heavily. A few faces looked toward him, and when they noticed his presence, they tapped the other's shoulders to gain their attention. Soon, Cecil was facing about 9 people in white lab coats, all with varying gender and age. He stood up straighter, clutching his notebook harder in his hand.

"My name is Cecil Palmer, from Night Vale Community Radio. I'd like to welcome you to our little community," Cecil said in one breath, confident sounding despite the nerves that began licking his heart. These people were obviously scientists, and Cecil had always had a fondness toward those in the world of science. He liked to think that was due to living in a place as strange as Night Vale, but a larger, and smarter, part of him knew this was due to his... _condition. _He always dreamt of someone telling him the reason behind his inability to die. Before, it was always by a scientist or doctor, but as the decades passed, Cecil was willing to take any answer someone would give.__

The scientists looked at Cecil questioningly, some with fear and others with awe, until a voice interrupted the looks.

"Guys! What's going on here?"

A man walked out from behind a wall, dark skin sweaty from the sun and from his labcoat and jean combination. He was a taller man with broad shoulders, dark eyes that were complimented by thick glasses, and the greatest hair Cecil ever had the privilege of seeing with his own three eyes. Flame instantly rushed to his cheeks as the other scientists parted like the Red Sea as Moses himself walked through toward Cecil, giving him the same look of awe the others had. Cecil decided that he very much enjoyed looking at this man, and would like to do it more.

"Oh, hi. How can we -uh- help you today?" The man asked, flashing Cecil with the glimpse of perfectly perfect straight teeth he held, and Cecil knew he was fucked.

For once in his life, Cecil was _speechless. _What did he say in the face of a perfect human being? Cecil knew he was anything but perfect, but in the eye of a man who seemed to be crafted by the gods himself, what could you say to justify your presence? He couldn't make a fool of himself this so early, this was his chance.__

"He said he was with the community radio," one of the presumed assistants provided, and Carlos grinned down once more at the radio host.

"Oh, well, hello! I'm Carlos, and this is my team of scientists. Unfortunately, we con't give an interview now," Carlos looked up at the others and gestured around himself broadly to the group to Cecil, who was still slack jawed, "I'm sorry, Mr..."

"Palmer! Cecil Palmer!" Cecil exclaims loudly, extending his hand out to the man, who shakes it heartily, and retracts just as efficiently. Cecil does not choose to dwell on the spark he felt at the contact, choosing instead to put that up to feeling human touch for the first time in years and not being used to it quite yet. Yes. That's it.

"Well, goodbye, Mr. Palmer," Carlos says, and turns to leave, Cecil is desperate for contact, having tasted the forbidden fruit and craving more.

"Wait!" He calls, and Carlos turns once more. "Can I possibly get a... phone number?"

Carlos raises a confused eyebrow, to which Cecil adds "for science!" to show that he's not feeling exactly what he is feeling. This seems to do the trick, as Cecil leaves the scientists area with a new number, whirring mind, and empty notebook, and subsequently, empty time slot. In the time, however, with the tingling in his hand and his rosy cheeks, Cecil feels at peace.

_Him. ___

* * *

Those feelings can only last so long, however. After Cecil records his show, which was lackluster at best, he drudged home with a heavy bruise on his arm from Station Management. Doing a shitty job had consequences, and Cecil knew it was his fault that the show was not interesting enough today. It was his job to find things out for the town, even if it seemed like nothing was going on; that only meant you were looking hard enough for a story. And he wasn't. A certain scientist had bee corrupting his mind like battery acid all day.

Home was no escape either, so it seemed, as Cecil put the blood oath into his door with dark curls and a firm grip on his mind. Cecil shook his head, trying to break free of the chains, however, the thoughts followed him through the door and into his bedroom, where Cecil could finally deal with it. In a proper way, of course.

And that way being to down a bottle of rum to quiet the noise. _Drink to forget, _after all.__

It burned like hell, it never didn't, but Cecil welcomed it's pain today. Because he was slipping like a man o a mountain, Carlos was the only ledge in sight. He knew it didn't make any sense to be in love with a man after you've talk to him once, and he couldn't explain it, but Cecil knew it was true. The being in love part. The part that had been ruining his life for a handful of hours and turning him into a pile of goop. Carlos the Scientist, damn him.

An emotion Cecil never expected to turn up at a time like this was _anger. _Anger that boiled up like lava, anger that shook him to his core and caused his fists to ball up in an ugly way, contorting into white. Cecil gripped the bottle until he was afraid it would shatter, the bedspread clutched in the other hand. Sitting on the edge of his bed, the radio host leaned over with gritted teeth, and just seethed. The thoughts ran through his head, and Cecil let them as the rum seemed to be forgotten in an ironic twist. The buzz of the previous sips still clung to his skin, and Cecil let them.__

_Why did someone like him have to fall in love with a man like Carlos? ___

_Why did he want to touch him like he had never touched someone else before? ___

_Why did love hurt so much? ___

Cecil knew it was love, and he hated that he couldn't dispute it; hated that this is what love was. Even something as beautifully described as love could burn him. Her touch never left him, and even centuries later she was ruining his life. Cecil lived a haunted life, plagued with the past and too burdened to deal with the future. Truly broken, truly messed up.

Cecil remembered the rum.

And with remembering that, he remembered that damned man, and it seared his mind. He couldn't let this love be known; he knew that ship had sailed when he began to speak about the scientist, but he still wanted to ignore it. Ignore all his feelings and just look forward to his work. Work that didn't have perfectly white teeth and unruly hair begging to be tugged...

"God, Carlos," he whimpered pathetically. "W-What have you _done _to me? I d-din't use to be like this..." He trails off, losing his train of thought. This love thing seemed to be extremely overrated, and Cecil wondered how Carlos felt right now, at this exact moment. Probably still working of talk with one of his friends. Cecil wondered how all his friends are, living somewhere far away from Night Vale and somewhere where it's always safe. As long as cecil is alive, something is chasing him and waiting for him. Something wants to kill Cecil, and he thinks it's love out to string him up and watch his bloody dry up. His body wasn't built to love; it wasn't designed to feel the feelings associated with care and love. His body was an icy castle that housed his frigid heart, that only the likes of the women could grasp and touch.__

He took another chug in a desperate plea.

His eyes burned with regret that quickly fell in anger trails. Nothing about this was loving and warm and fuzzy; butterflies were replaced with a rabid animal that tore up Cecil's stomach until nothing but red streamers were left, bloody and gory. The movies he used to sneak into his laptop told tales of soft kisses and forbidden touches, and Cecil wondered why he felt so shitty in love. It made him want to cry and scream that it just wasn't fair. It just didn't make sense, and it just wasn't _fair. ___

So he did. For hours.

* * *

There is no possible way for a human being's eyes to be the shade that his double's was, Cecil was sure of. The inkiness of them were haunting and dead; emotion was hidden by the black, thus making the "man" seem like a monster instead. A monster that just so happened to wear Cecil's face in perfection and was just so damn exotic.

"Oh Cecil..." it coos as it stands with Cecil in his radio station surrounded by a storm, "don't you know what I am?"

"Well, I have a faint idea," he sneers, face twisting is disgust.

_"Oh," _it sings. "What is that?"__

"Simple. You're me."

It raised an eyebrow, eyes glistening in artificial light. "What do you mean by that, dear?"

"Well, looking at you," Cecil begins, stance relaxing a bit in the wake of a potential conversation, "we are the same thing. Radio presenters, I assume, with the same face and body type. Except..."

The thing takes a step forward closer to Cecil, the knife he had been holding tightening in his grip in a flash before it loosens. Cecil knows his choice of words needs to be precise, and that this thing would not hesitate to stab him through the chest. It was a dangerous thing, and Cecil was playing a dangerous game.

"Except?" It asks, sharp teeth curling into a smile that was too sweet to be genuine.

"Except we think differently," Cecil says, taking a slow sep back, toward the phone. Some type of weapon wouldn't hurt in this situation, he presumes.

He is surprised when the thing chuckles, full of glass, and it's eyes roam over Cecil in a way that makes him feel _exposed. ___

"Oh Cecil, that's where you're adorably wrong, again," it says. "I know everything about you."

His interest is piqued, and it's his turn to raise an eyebrow. "I seriously doubt that."

Then, quicker then Cecil could ever imagine to move, he is pinned to the wall by his monster, steel against his throat and the stench of blood making him nauseous. The grip on his chest is iron tough, restricting breathing while Cecil tries to regain his thoughts. The thing is so close to him now, Cecil is terrified.

It's head leans in close to his neck, warm breath, and Cecil clenches his eyes shut.

"Your name is Cecil Gershwin Palmer, born and raised in Night Vale. You had a mother and a brother, who are both gone. You never knew your father, and your mother was very disconnected from the world, causing you to grow up on yourself. Your bother is always disappointed in you and your interests, causing you to try and impress him constantly, even now. You have major gaps in your memories, and some days you black out completely and forget the events. You're an alcoholic, smoker, and the occasional pill abuser."

The smile sticks to his neck like a tattoo, and Cecil gets chills.

"You're also in _love. _I can practically smell it on you-" it whispers into Cecil's skin. The man feels something within him snap; and he brings his hands up to shove the monster back and away, away from him and his mind.__

"You don't know a damn thing about me," he hissed, venom palpable. It smirked.

"Do I need to prove myself more? I can do that, Cecil."

Cecil, in a moment or bravery, or perhaps exhaustion, takes that step closer to the monster, eyes spitting fire. The creature is still smirking with the knife held in his crossed arms. Cecil hears the storm outside begin to die down to a gentle hum of rushing sand. He thinks that maybe he has a chance, and with his new found confidence, he takes another step closer to it.

Now they're dangerously close, and Cecil is throwing all his cards down and he places a delicate but firm finger on the monster's chest, pointing into a possibly hollow ribcage.

"You may know my backstory and my name, but you don't know _shit _about me and who I am. You can learn anything from a few internet searches or the right sacrifice here, so don't act all high and mighty on your stairwell that I know is built on fractures and broken bits. If you really are me, you should know about all the little things that only _we _should know."____

Cecil takes another step closer, 4 now, and the monster has a blank face of terror. Swallowing the fear, Cecil regains his cocky attitude with difficulty.

"You should know that whisky is our preferred drink; or that I stopped trying long ago to impress my sibling," Cecil hisses, and the monster with his face is seething with unrestrained rage. The radio host felt shivers slip down his spine as the knife is a cool memory in his mind.

"What a show you're putting on for me..." it coos suddenly, voice sharp as a razor. "Playing brave when I know you aren't. How _quaint." ___

"I'm not playing anything; I'm just trying to stay alive."

"In that case, you're doing a shitty job."

He expecting the piercing stab of steel in his gut. Instead, the noise outside stopped in a single second, as though nothing had been going on at all. Cecil unclenched his eyes that he had no memory of closing, and surveyed the room. It was _covered _in blood; it dripped down the walls in streaks and rivers, sticking to every surface it seemed. Cecil looked in horror at the equipment that was stained pure red, wondering who this belong to and what fate they were subjected to to leave a mess such as this.__

"Intern Jesse?" He asked with a shaky voice.

The silence was an answer enough.

Realizing what had gone down in that moment he had no recollection of, Cecil ran to the phone that was somehow clean on his desk. He pushed a few buttons, calling any number he happened to land on while he tried to stand again. That monster could be anywhere here, and Cecil knew he was responsible for the blood and gore that decorated his space. The ringing phone continued in his ear as Cecil finally stood.

The man took a few shaky steps toward anywhere, trying to survey the room and what had happened. Cecil found himself in front of a mirror, uncovered despite his best efforts, and his grip on the phone is slack. All color drains from his already pale face and Cecil fights the violent urge to vomit all over the floor. Every nerve is sparking, and Cecil is faintly aware of the oaky tones coming from the phone's receiver.

On the glass lies a bloody handprint, the exact size as Cecil's, and the word "SOMEDAY" dripping in harsh crimson onto the nice tiled floor.

* * *

Cecil was properly fucked now, and he was truly succumbing to it's coldness that surrounds him like gentle snow he imagines sometimes. He knows that letting Carlos get as close as he did was a dangerous move, and he knew that it would eventually lead to his downfall and heartbreak. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't somewhat crave that hurt. Something about Carlos confirming that Cecil wasn't good enough for him would be a form of validation of his thoughts. It would prove Cecil isn't completely crazy, and that if he leaves, he would leave no one to mourn him. Cecil's been in that place more then once, and if he left anyone like that, Cecil wouldn't know what he'd do.

The scientist seemed to, at least in the beginning, be avoiding Cecil like the plague. Every guilty phone call he'd make to him would go directly to voicemail, locked away in a tiny box. Cecil knows that he must be a burden at this point, but he can't seem to _stop. ___

His life had been a lonely one, and deep down, Cecil wanted someone. A person that he could talk to at 4am in the morning about nothing, or could just have a reassuring hand to hold whenever shit got too tough. An anchor, in a way.

It wasn't just that Cecil found Carlos extremely attractive, which he did, and it wasn't that Carlos was enviously intelligent, which he was. The radio host liked to think that a man like Carlos would be harshly devoted to a partner, something Cecil has fantasized about far more then he would care to admit. A man with strong values and sense of self; someone who would not take an insult sitting down. A man who is obviously very determined and curious.

Cecil liked to imagine Carlos would take a look at his tattoos and see them as something of beauty and awe. He liked to wonder if Carlos would admire his third eye and not be disgusted with it, as he has witnessed among interlopers that are far and few between. Long and elegant fingers would trace the ink and purple swirls, as they relaxed on a bed or couch somewhere in the infinite. The void would be loud, but the touches would be louder.

So when the date crept upon Cecil, he dreaded the attachment. He dreaded the looks, and the words. Cecil dreaded the fear that would come in like an ocean wave. Carlos would undoubtedly leave, just like they all did. The car pulled up, with Carlos inside, and Cecil left his house.

And they talked. And they talked more. And they talked even more.

And they kissed.

And Cecil fell into oblivion.

* * *

"I _hate _it! I hate it so much you could never know!"__

"Hate what, hate me?"

"How could you ever think I could hate you?"

"You don't exactly hide it, Cecil. You never want to go out with me anymore; our calls are 3 minutes at best; I've never seen your house. If you don't want to see me anymore, you can just tell me-"

"Stop. Just.. stop."

Silence overtakes the room.

"I'm sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you."

"I know, and I hate it. I hate that. You never mean to do _anything, _you just do it. You just waltz into my town and take me by surprise, not even asking if you can do the things you did."__

"I... I'm not sure I follow."

"I don't hate you. I hate the things you do to me."

"Cecil..."

"I've been through a lot in my life, Carlos. A lot of things that wouldn't make sense to you. Some don't even make sense to me, but at the end of the day, they're apart of my life and have shaped who I am. I don't want you to see some of the sides of me that exist. I'm trying so hard to keep you away, but the things you make me feel... I've never felt before in my entire life. I'm scared."

Silence overtakes the room.

"I want to be there for you, Ceec. I want to help."

"How? Carlos, I...I want you so bad... Every part of you..."

"I want you so bad it hurts, Cecil Gershwin Palmer. In anyway you'll let me. In anyway I possibly can, in this dimension or any other that exists. I will want you."

"Say that to me in 3 years..."

"I will. I promise I will."

"Don't say that. I don't want you to feel obligated to stay with me."

"Loving you isn't a job. It's a privilege."

"...Promise?"

"Oh course, god, of _course. _I won't leave you, Cecil. I won't leave you, I won't leave you, I won't ever leave you..."__

* * *

The condo stole Carlos.

That damn condo that sprouted from absolutely nothing came into his Night Vale, and took Cecil's home. Showed him a better world that Cecil was not apart of, or even in, and kept him for it's own, it's own pleasure. Cecil had to get him back.

Hearing Carlos on the phone describe a perfect reality made Cecil as confused as he was concerned. A man as perfect as Carlos would certainly dream of something so amazing and revolutionary, Cecil was almost frightened of seeing what he could want in the world. If Carlos was a god, what he would see fit. In a way, Cecil was glad that he was not apart of that world. At least somewhere, he's dead.

What was his own idea of a perfect world? Cecil had only known Night Vale and what it had to offer, so anything else seemed different and new. A perfect world, he supposed, would have everyone Cecil had ever lost in his life. All the friends that he watched grow up, grow old, and buried in the ground would walk the same Earth as him. They would talk with him and they would continue conversations they had long ago they by now have no relevance to anyone but the radio host. Carlos would be there, of course. His presence would make the world perfect, and Cecil could love him without fear or hate. An anchor secured to him, keeping him down. If Abbey wanted to be there, Cecil would have her. Janice would be there, and all of Cecil's friends that were currently alive.

For the fourth time in a day, as Cecil runs towards the condo, he feels that cold wind wrap him up tightly. The fingers inch closer to him and Cecil only runs faster, away. He thinks that his mother would not be there, in his world. She'd be somewhere better where she needs to be. She doesn't need Cecil, she never did.

He approaches Carlos, and suddenly, his idea of perfection is all he sees, and its inky blackness. He can hear that monster's hysteric laugh in his ears, ringing like a bell. It forces him to stop dead in his tracks and cover his ears. Carlos needs him, and that _thing _is chasing him down like he's prey. Is he? He hopes not, as he scratches his head in frustration and blinks tears out of his eyes. He hopes that he won't die, for once in his life. Not when Carlos is in trouble.__

_"Someday..." _it says in his ear among the laughing, and Cecil screams for it to stop. And it does.__

Cecil runs towards Carlos, and while he runs, he knows his idea of perfection. 

* * *

_"I...I just thought it was time for us to make a home... together..." ___

* * *

"Cecil?"

There. There it was. There was that voice that he heard in his head. There he was. Cecil knew it was there, and he was... happy. A foreign feeling that he hated to admit, but it was not unwelcome. He held out open arms to the warmth that he desperately needed to melt his icy walls. A flame flickered within, and Cecil smiled into his blanket that was wrapped around his body.

If Cecil was to tell his past self of this moment and these feelings, he is sure that he would not believe it for a single second. He would run in the opposite direction, away from whatever warmth was offered. Cecil had his demons when he was a young man, and they would play with him. He made the mistake of confusing them as friends, and now they like to invite themselves into situations where they simply do not fit in. The situation he called "his life."

"Ceec, you're not as clever as you think you are..." Carlos teases as he wraps his arm around Cecil, and hugs him closer. In faked shock, Cecil gasped.

"I'm plenty clever! I could sleep forever and you'd never know it."

"I highly doubt that. I need you to water those plants outside. They always hiss at me."

Cecil let out a breathy chuckle at that. "That's because you use the wrong water."

Carlos sits up on one arm, leaning over to look at Cecil's warm face. He gives a small smile, hair falling in his eyes. Cecil falls in love again.

"That's not fair! How many different types of water exist?"

The radio host twists around to give Carlos a small kiss on his nose. "15, Mr. Scientist. How could you not know that?" He whispers in the green morning light. "Maybe I should be the scientist here."

"Mmh, maybe..." the scientist replies, nuzzling Cecil's shoulder as the men get comfortable under the covers. The morning is a blessing to them, and the sunlight creates a sheet. Armed in only their boxers, Cecil and Carlos bravely face the tasks that await them. Struggling under the warmth, the lovers lay beneath cotton and mysterious material to just... _look. ___

Cecil lets his eyes roam over the contours of the other man's face. Every crease, every delicate wrinkle, every scruff or light freckle. Carlos has soft features, that make him very plush and warm. Bed head and crystal teeth, and Cecil thinks he just might stay here and away from the rest of reality with Carlos. Eventually, Carlos lays his hand atop of Cecil's, and begins stroking his knuckles with his thumb. It's all loving and careful, and Cecil melts.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," Carlos whispers back.

* * *

_"When life seems and unmanageable, just remember that it is and you can't survive it forever!" ___

* * *

Cecil Palmer died and it was glorious.

Granted, it was he always wanted and dreamt of, but it was not a pretty death. Flowers did not, and would not, bloom around his corpse in a twisting fashion, showing an array of beauty and vibrance. Vines would not grow in and out of his ribcage in a maze that would have him strung out. Delicate skin would rot away into absolutely nothing, and Cecil would join all his friends in another place. A better place, so he heard.

The blood dripped down the walls, and they stained it _all. ___

He had been reporting the news, like a radio host does, when it occurred. Sitting at his chair with the microphone in front of him like it always is, talking like he always does. Cecil was quite literally born to do this, and for the first time in a really long time, he feels like it's right. He feels like he really is meant to do this forever, and he doesn't even mind it. The nightmares have been weakened, and the cold is no match for the warmth Carlos gives him. How could he possibly hear anything negative at all when Carlos is whispering into his ear sweet nothings?

The day was normal and Cecil was enjoying it. A kiss goodbye from Carlos, a freshly brewed pot of coffee in his office, friendly new intern; Cecil knew it was going to be a good day.

Speaking normally, until he saw his breath come out in a smoke like fashion. It puffed out, and Cecil stopped mid sentence to observe it. It was gone almost instantly, but Cecil knew that something was wrong. The room had begun to freeze over like hell itself, and the radio host quickly warned his audience and town of potential cold temperatures that could put a few at risk. HIs fingers began to get colder and colder as they began to shake with anxiety, and Cecil could feel his breath speeding up. The more he breathed, the more smoke escaped his lungs and froze the room even more. Something was very wrong with this situation, and Cecil quickly dismissed to the weather, forcing the semi-frozen button down. A country song with hip-hip started filling the room up as Cecil quickly removed his phone from his pocket, and dialed Carlos' number.

As it rang, Cecil tried to regain control of himself and his runaway thoughts. This was nothing, he was fine. Right now, he just needed to hear Carlos reassure him in that fact. He knew he was okay, he knew he was okay, he knew-

The mirror was broken.

Cecil drops the phone as he stares at the shattered glass that was scattered across his floor in deadly glitter. Cecil felt himself begin to hyperventilate. He staggered backwards as the music began to fade off, leaving nothing but Cecil's own harsh breath.

The man looked around with snaps of his neck, eyes wide and pale white as death. The voice began to speak and whisper to him delicately, saying things like how he was going to die and that he was going to bleed and bleed out quickly and silently. There were so many, so loud, so angry. Cecil grasped the desk behind him, facing the frozen room to try and find this seemingly invisible enemy.

Suddenly, he felt fingers grip his wrist in an iron grip. They were cold and dead and so tight that Cecil was scared his wrist would be snapped in half. He looked back immediately, and saw... saw...

"Mother..."

Her face was sunken in like it had been decomposing for hundreds of years, and she looked so frail Cecil knew a strong gust of wind would blow her into oblivion. A familiar look, a familiar coldness. She smelled like cigarettes, still after all these years.

Cecil tried to pull his hand back and away, but to no avail as she only clenched tighter around his wrist. Cecil was confused.

"W-what are you-"

"Cecil Gershwin Palmer, welcome to someday!"

And then it _hurt. ___

There was a piercing pain in his back, like nothing Cecil had ever felt before, and then more hysterical laughter. His mother kept her grip on her son tightly, staring at him as his face contorted into pain, and tears sprung from his eyes. The pain was so intense, it was the realest thing Cecil had ever felt. There was a strange feeling of liquid running down his back, and Cecil knew it was pure red. Blood, so much blood.

"You know I couldn't let you continue Cecil; this town is tired of you, and I'm just trying to help you!" The monster that killed him said. Cecil fell to the ground in a lost moment of agony, and the blood soaks through his shirt into a puddle. HIs mother goes down with him, lifting his head into her lap to stroke his hair. Her hands burn Cecil and he hates it, but back is causing the most discomfort. Cecil thinks he can hear the phone screaming, but he guesses that it's just another voice. Its quiet in the room aside from Cecil's desperate breaths and choked sobs.

"Don't worry Cecil, I'll take care of you," it says as it leans down with a shard of glass in his hand. Blood is smeared on his hand and shirt, and Cecil is screaming bloody murder.

The town slows down, it seems. Radios spark alive with crackling pops and suddenly every home and car is filled with the ear piercing scream of Cecil dying. It's loud and long, seeming to defy time it's self. Those who are walking or doing any type of activity are stopped immediately, and NIght Vale is silent. Aside from their Voice screaming and screaming and screaming.

The radio host then lets the scream fade out and away into the darks of the monster's eyes. He is being stared at like a piece of meat, and Cecil doesn't want to die. With every fiber of his being, with every cell in his body, he wants to _live, _goddammit. He wants to grow old with Carlos and meet new people in the street and start a family and grow and become the man he wants to be. He wants to hold hands in the town and greet old friends and see the world in a new and beautiful day everyday. Cecil just doesn't want to die.__

"Don't take this personally. I actually kinda liked you," it whispered, and Cecil's mother's touches begin to get lighter and lighter, as she barely skims her hands through his hair.

"...W-Why...?" Cecil asked, blood running down his chin in a rivulet. The monster runs it's finger through it's vibrance, and brings it to it's lips, sucking the digit clean. It grins devilishly.

"Because we are one in the same."

Cecil is alternating between hot and cold, and he is gasping for breath in his studio covered in blood. He is surrounded by his friends, calling out to him with faceless bodies. Beckoning arms welcome him into his perfect world where it doesn't hurt. Cecil looks into the florescent lights, and lets out a shaky breath, low and long.

_"Please don't hurt." ___

And it didn't.

* * *

"Hello? Cecil? I love how your show is going, it's extremely fascinating to hear about those birds that you've seen. If you want to, we could go out to a picnic later to look at them. Sound like a plan? I'll make the sandwiches if you bring the binoculars!"

Uh, Cecil? Are you there?"

"Hello?"

"Who is that? Cecil, is something wrong? Should I come to-"

"Oh... oh my god.... Ceec.... Cecil can you hear me?!"

"Okay Cecil I...I'm on my way over there.... I don't know if you can hear me, but just... t-try to listen to me."

"Try and tell me who did this, Cecil. C-Can you describe him? What does he l-look like...?"

"Keep breathing Cecil. Just keep breathing. I-I think I can hear someone speaking, I'I hope it's someone there to help you. I just n-need 2 minutes, Cecil. I'm almost there. I'm almost there."

"Oh, oh god Cecil... p-please just _stay with me." ___

"R-Remember? Remember when I-I said I'd never leave? I meant it, Cecil. I-I'm going to be with you, I won't l-leave you. I could n-never do that to you, never would do that to you _ever." ___

"Because I love you, and I'm pulling into the parking lot. H-Here I am! I'm going to hang up now, give me 30 s-seconds Cecil. I'll be there and we'll walk out together. We'll walk out and get you to a hospital, and we can t-take that picnic if ya want! Just.... make me a promise. I-I know you hate those, but _please _Cecil, just do this for me."__

"Please don't die, Cecil."

"Hang on, okay? I love you."

_Click! ___

**Author's Note:**

> i  
> im not v good at hiding my love of cecil/kevin am i.............
> 
> BTW i used @remembersunflower's headcanon/theory thing on cecils perception of perfection so check it out on their tumblr !
> 
> if i gave a shit i wouldve made this longer but lets be reAL HERE ITS ALREADY TOO FUCKIN LONG
> 
> i spent like 7 hours on this rip


End file.
